


Living spaces

by Jackeline Harkness (Jackeline_Harkness)



Series: Survival [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M, Normal Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-20 23:52:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6030451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackeline_Harkness/pseuds/Jackeline%20Harkness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Learning to share living spaces is a long, complex process... especially when you're some sort of mostly-unwelcome guest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Captain

**The Captain.**

 

As ironic as it felt to have Captain America, the same man whom he’d totally played and betrayed, not to mention tried to kill, vouching for his stay in the Avengers Tower, Brock couldn’t say he was surprised. After all, Rogers was doing all this for his lost-and-found childhood friend, not because of him. Had it been only about him, Brock was sure that Rogers would have let him to die, if not killed him with his own hands.

Brock had to admit, though, that he was still impressed with the man’s integrity. Because the captain was not only putting up with his presence for James’ sake, no. He was actually going out of his way to make sure things were on a relatively sane level and to slowly try to get Brock assimilated into his and the team’s life.

A few days after he was officially off meds, Brock got drunk. As wasted as he could afford to, in any case, because a lifetime of justified paranoia dictated that he remained at least capable of defending himself, and while old habits die hard, some bone-deep training simply doesn’t die. But the thing was that he’d been drunk enough to lean close into Rogers’ personal space and start to tell him that he knew that he was doing all that for Bucky and for Bucky alone, that he understood, and he was still grateful that Steve looked after James so thoroughly.

Rogers had given him a grin that was mostly a smile, patted his shoulder, and said, “I know.”


	2. Stark

**Stark.**

 

Brock could see it. It was written all over his stance, shining clear as the sun beneath the public-stunt mask, screamed through sheer body language: someone, most likely more than one person, had managed to force Stark to finally acknowledge his presence directly. He was a guest in the Avengers’ tower while he healed, and James assured him that they were both welcome and safe in there, but Brock couldn’t relax, waiting for the moment where he was recovered enough to be handed over to whatever authority or, even worse, what remained of SHIELD. James refused to say anything about it, but he obviously noticed his unease.

That was perhaps why someone had convinced Stark that he should play good host and be the first to officially meet Brock.

“Just to be clear,” he’d said with little preamble, and looking like someone taking a big spoonful of a particularly bitter medicine, “I don’t like you. I don’t hate you, either. I don’t know you well enough for any of those, and before you say anything, you’re not the first and I seriously doubt you’ll be the last one to try to kill my friends, or to help get me killed. So that’s just another Thursday.”

The billionaire paused long enough to set two tumblers on the coffee table and pour a few fingers of amber liquor in them, passing one to Brock.

“There’s the whole thing where I don’t trust you, too. But you can be… uh… supervised 24/7 by JARVIS, and in case you tried anything funny, there’s usually most of us in the building, and I don’t think even the most textbook typical goon would be idiotic enough to try anything with the team assembled in the same place, and I’d guess someone at your rank has at least a dozen neurons… so I’m not expecting any trouble from you.”

Brock blinked, while Stark sipped his liquor.

“Is this you giving me a warning?” he couldn’t help but ask, his voice still raspy from the bad bruising it had received.

“No,” he took another sip of the scotch. “This is me reminding you that any of us can mop the floor with you, and will do it, too, if you give us any reason. But also, if you don’t do anything stupid, there’s just a chance that you might actually fit in with the rest of us misfits. So, yeah.”

“I won’t…”

“Don’t even. Promises, vows, whatever it is you’re about to say, save it. Actions, big guy. That’s what keeps this whole…” he gestured grandly with both hands, “thing, together.”

Brock raised his hand in surrender. After all, he’d only hit the common floor in search for a few bottles of water because his abused throat still demanded absurd amounts of water, and James had said nobody was likely to be around there at almost four in the morning.

“Not looking for any trouble,” he said anyway.

Stark regarded him silently for a moment, like Brock imagined he’d do to a complex piece of code.

“Also, you should know that as long as you don’t try to go back to the dark side or play us, we won’t hunt you down even if things don’t work out with the Buckster. I don’t think even Captain Spangles would hold it against you. So you don’t have to feel like a captive bride or whatever. And that’s pretty much it.”

“Thanks. I think,” he rasped out.

“Good talking to you,” he turned around, leaving his empty tumbler on a nearby shelf, which made Brock wonder who the hell did the cleaning around there, because he had yet to encounter any staff in the living quarters.

Rumlow took the first sip of the liquor and, of course, found it to be the good stuff. Really, really good stuff.

“Oh, and, by the way,” Stark said, half turning around to look at him, “deep-throating someone with an injured throat? Not a good idea. I mean, just in case you’ve been doing it. Or thinking about it. Good night.”

Brock spat what scotch he hadn’t yet manage to swallow, because what the fuck? He choked on the drink and had to make a real effort not to drop the tumbler to the floor.

When he recovered enough to demand an explanation, Stark was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really, really enjoy writing about the others from Brock's perspective, since he thinks of them very differently than other Avnegers.


	3. Barton

**Barton.**

 

Most of the team’s been involved in more than a few unsavory things in their lives, but the two former SHIELD agents were, of course, more familiar with his line of work. It was either that they actually didn’t judge him as harshly as the others, or maybe it was simply the perception he had of them, but they did seem to be more genuinely at ease around him. Of course they kept an eye on him all the time, but he was already expecting that.

One morning, though, he found Barton looking at him more sharply than usual.

Ever since waking up in the tower, he’d been honestly behaving himself, relishing James’ company and the thrill that came from knowing he’d managed to escape Hydra, and that he actually had a chance of remaining free of its tendrils and be alive. It was exhilarating. So he had to wonder if he’d done something that could be misinterpreted, or if Barton had uncovered some other detail of his dark past, something horrible that they hadn’t known before his arrival there.

He was starting to really work things out with James, and he didn’t need additional complications, so he decided to go with his gut and simply confront the archer about it.

“What is it?”

“Whatever do you mean?” Barton said. Maybe he’d been spending way too much time with the Widow.

“You’ve been watching me.”

“Of course I have. I’m not the only one.”

“I don’t mean…” Brock sighed. “I know I’m on trial or something, but you’ve been staring at me since yesterday morning.”

Barton had the decency to look a little bit ashamed.

“What?” Brock demanded, hating the way his voice still hadn’t recovered.

The archer hesitated, then visibly steeled himself and looked him in the eye.

“Who the fuck is Aleksei?” he demanded, sounding downright pissed.

“What?” Brock said again, because when had been the last time that…? And then, all the pieces fell together. “Only time I called him that, we were fucking!” he said, not caring that his throat betrayed him and his voice broke a little. He was too aggravated to care about that much. Besides, if the fucking Avengers had cameras on them while they fucked, he had much worse reasons to worry than his voice sounding like a stupid teenager’s.

“Not relevant!”

“I do think it’s fucking relevant! Does Stark have cameras on us?!”

“No! Well, I don’t know! I hope not!”

“Then how the fuck…?”

“Ok, ok. Let’s get back on track. I was going through the vents, because sometimes I like to do that, and I heard you call him that, and you’re not supposed to be toying with Bucky Barnes.”

“You were in the vents?”

“Of course that’s what you’d choose to fix on. Whatever. A man’s gotta have hobbies.”

“You were listening to us fuck.”

“I wasn’t… look, that wasn’t the goal, ok? It was an accident, but that’s not important. The question is, who the fuck is Aleksei?”

“It’s James. It’s just… none of your goddamn business, alright? You can confirm with him if it’s alright for me to call him that.”

Barton looked at him like the hawk he liked to call himself.

“And if I ask for the details…”

“Please don’t. Because if you ask him, he’ll probably tell you and it’s… it’s a private thing, alright?”

Barton nodded, although he still looked suspicious.

“You’re not stupid, so you don’t need me to tell you that if you ever toyed with him, nobody would ever find your body, right?”

Brock snorted.

“Just so you know,” Barton said lightly, and Brock nodded.

Once the archer had gone on his way, Brock smiled. Despite the awkwardness and everything else, it was nice to know that the team cared for James like that, despite James being pretty deadly and capable of taking care of himself. If there was just a sliver of bitter resignation at knowing he’d never have anyone have his back like that, well, such were the facts of life; and if he liked Barton more after that, nobody seemed to bother finding out the reason.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go!  
> So apparently, Clint is a bit of a fan of Bucky's... maybe he was his hero or marksman role model?  
> In any case, his protectiveness of Bucky wins him lots of points with Brock ^^


	4. Thor

**Thor.**

 

Many times in life, Brock had been sure that that was it. He’d seen it all and had no capacity to be amazed anymore.

Each time, there had been something to prove that he’d been dead wrong.

The lightning storm that preceded Thor’s arrival was one of such events, and he was still a bit dazed while everyone reacted as if the god had just parked a car at the curb. That Thor was about twelve feet tall and seemed even taller in person didn’t help to diminish that, either.

Perhaps it was because of his state that he wasn’t able to react properly when he was suddenly engulfed in a hug that threatened to crack his ribs and then a pat on the shoulder that was probably friendly for Asgardians, but left a red mark on his very mortal flesh.

“We welcome you as a fellow warrior. Our pasts will remain unchanged, but it is the future where we might yet forge a brighter path,” the god stated in his booming voice before moving on to talk with the Captain about one thing or another.

It took Brock a few moments to process what the hell the god had meant.

It took him less than half an hour to become Thor’s drinking buddy and, if everyone else was to be believed, about two and a half glasses of otherworldly ale to be passed out cold.

The following day, though, while James helped him nurse the mother of all fucking hangovers, he smiled as he remembered stories of war and honor… and of second chances.

 

 


	5. The Widow

**The Widow.**

 

If Brock had thought he’d known a single thing about Romanoff, he’d been wrong. She was as deadly as she was hot, so Brock, liking his balls where they hung, decided to keep a respectful distance from her.

It was fucking early one morning and James was gone on a run with the Captain when JARVIS announced to him that the Widow wanted to talk to him. He told the AI that he’d meet with her later, but then was told that she was, in fact, already in the elevator, waiting to be admitted into James’ apartment.

His heartrate picked up as he told the AI to let her in, and he walked to the living area to meet her.

“Good morning,” he greeted, brows furrowing at her, deadly as ever even dressed in yoga pants and a faded t-shirt.

“Morning,” she replied, but didn’t look at him as she set things on the coffee table, pouring two tall glasses of vodka and pushing one in his general direction before making herself comfortable on the couch.

She sat there, sipping her liquor in silence for a few minutes before he joined her.

“It’s seven in the morning,” he said.

The Widow shrugged.

“Do you really think any normal standards apply to us, after everything that’s happened?”

“I guess not,” he reached for his glass and took a gulp of the clear liquor. Damn, it was good. Perhaps he should talk James into getting Stark to buy something stronger than beer for them, too.

They sat there for a long time, just drinking and not looking at each other.

“You know, I should be dead. Many times over. I came close a lot of times, but there was this once that was truly close,” she said while she refilled their glasses.

“What happened?”

“Clint happened,” she looked at him and gave him a lopsided smile. He’d never imagined there could be such light in her eyes. “Sometimes, a rare chance will present itself, and things can actually change if you take the chance. If you can swallow pride and take the hand extended towards you.”

Brock felt his lips stretch in an unhappy smile.

“Maybe it’s too much,” he paused. “It isn’t really fair.”

“I understand,” she said, again not looking at him. “But this isn’t a fair world. We’ve learnt that the hard way, haven’t we?”

And then, the slightly bitter but hopeful smile was shared by them both.


	6. Bruce

**Bruce.**

 

If only to himself, Brock could admit that he was nervous around the team. They were the fucking Avengers, after all, and on-the-lookout-for-heroes had been his operating mode for a long time. However, if there was one of them that scared the shit out of him, it was the Hulk. He’d seen the damage the green monster was capable of, and his mind didn’t need much more to extrapolate to what he could do to him. Being smashed into a bloody stain in a single swoop wasn’t that bad a way to go, he supposed, since even if it was a bit too gory to witness it would at least be quick… but what if the Hulk didn’t kill him quickly? A shattered spine that would leave him paralyzed for however long he had to live, or having his legs amputated wasn’t a happy thought.

So he hadn’t exactly been avoiding Banner, but he was still a bit uneasy around him, unsure if his mere presence could unleash the monster.

As things were, he was watching a movie on the common floor’s living room with James and Steve, both of whom were making a much better job than him at pretending it didn’t feel awkward as fuck. He sat there, with James between him and Steve, as if they were all great friends or something… until he couldn’t take it anymore and made some vague excuse before escaping to the balcony.

He had before reflected on how maybe balcony wasn’t the right name for it, since it was so big, and the thought crossed his mind again as he made himself comfortable leaning against the rail. It was perhaps too high up in the building for it to be really safe, but then again, conventional standards didn’t exactly apply to the tower’s inhabitants.

The wind blew cool and constant, making him relax instantly from the overwhelming tension back inside, so Brock had that to blame for not realizing he wasn’t alone on the balcony.

He first caught the sweet scent of the herb, and then he whipped around to find none other than Bruce Banner sitting calmly on a chair about ten feet from him. If he hadn’t been so shocked to suddenly find himself in Banner’s company, he’d probably have kicked himself for not noticing someone else’s presence when he got there. He was probably getting rusty from the lack of practice, or his senses were worn out from being on high alert all the fucking time he was around those people.

Banner greeted him with a nod, the sardonic smile on his lips the only hint of his amusement at Brock’s obvious shock.

It was bad enough that he’d been so oblivious to Banner’s presence, so he wasn’t going to add to it by scrambling away like a fucking chicken. He crossed his arms and was trying to find something to say and try to make things a little less awkward when he caught another whiff of the smoke and promptly frowned.

“Is that pot?” he asked before he could really think about it.

The scientist slash monster smirked.

“Is that a problem?”

Brock snorted.

“I’m not exactly in a position to judge anyone’s habits. It’s legal in more than one place, anyway.”

Banner gave him a more honest smile this time, and then, he extended the small tin with his herb towards him. After half a second of hesitation, Brock accepted it, taking a seat close to the scientist.

Brock didn’t know how long they were there, first just sitting and smoking pot while trying to ignore the awkwardness, then just chilling, then making light conversation, and then, making real conversation.

“SHIELD did a lot of nasty stuff that wasn’t even influenced by Hydra. So we got to a point… I mean, we weren’t Nazis or anything. Hell, we weren’t even racists, you know? We just, I mean, you see a lot of things in the job, hear of even worse things… but then, you see some really fucked up stuff done in the name of good, but you know it’s just some higher up’s whim, some political play and it’s not even for the greater good. And maybe it wasn’t the best way to go around things but, the core of Hydra’s ideals? They were pure. They were about sacrifices for the greater good, and then you have to wonder if it’s really not necessary. The harsh measures. The hard decisions. And then you make them, you make the sacrifice because even if you can’t ever sleep well at night in your fucking life, at least you’re making a difference, you know?”

Bruce nodded vehemently.

“It’s all about science and making this a better world, and then you’re suddenly waking up naked after having smashed Harlem.”

“Can’t say I’ve done that… but I did fight a war for total control in the world and had a helicarrier crash on me and a building collapse on top of me.”

Bruce laughed, and Brock joined in. They weren’t even that high anymore, but when you were either a rage monster or a former evil organization black ops agent, everything in the world seemed either hilarious or depressive as fuck.

Afterwards, Brock found himself enjoying Bruce’s company, even if there were no light drugs or even drinks involved.

Evidently, it seemed odd for the rest of the Avengers, and even Stark had been left wordless for a moment the first time he’d found both of them at the lab, having an eerily normal conversation while Bruce worked serenely on a holo-display and Brock cleaned a pile of guns that would have shocked any normal person. It made James happy, though, so Brock found no reason at all to stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a lot of fun to write! Especially thinking of how Brock would interact with each of the Avengers and how he would perceive them. Even how he would think and refer to them.   
> I hope you've liked this so far. I might write yet another small piece to go in this little fic, about Brock finding out that Tony and Steve are together, but haven't figured out something that sounds good enough yet. Any ideas?


End file.
